The Greatest (NOT MY FAVOURITE) Movies Of All Time

"Once Upon a Time in America" is probably the most difficult film I have ever encountered in terms of completing an overall accurate cinematic criticism. This movie just grows in myth and debate as the years come and go. Co-writer/director Sergio Leone (who became an international success with "A Fistful of Dollars", "For a Few Dollars More" and "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" in the late-1960s) could not really figure out what to do with the complicated novel "Hoods" when adapted to the silver screen. He struggled through with writes, re-writes and several versions of this production. Every version seemingly has more questions than the one before. There are six screenwriters credited (one being Italian film-making giant Federico Fellini, arguably the finest writer-director of movies of any movie era). In the end the final product (the very long running 229-minute version) is one of those films that cannot really be talked about. If you try to talk about this production with someone unfamiliar with it, you will leave them dumb-founded and completely confused. Elements of time, situations, heart of the story and characterization get mixed up into a long and winding road of a movie that is extremely deep and definitely complicated. An elderly Jewish man in the 1960s (Robert DeNiro with heavy makeup) comes back to his old New York neighborhood and goes on a quiet and sad journey of remembrance and personal loss. Flashbacks to the early-1920s start quickly as we see a young group of Jewish adolescents in New York (Scott Tiler, Rusty Jacobs, Adrian Curran and Brian Bloom among them) run around town and take advantage of hard-core criminal syndicates and dim-witted beat police officers. The group is wise beyond their years. They have street-smarts that put them into a high class of law-breakers. Early problems develop and brutal multiple murders take place by Tiler. He is sent to prison for the better part of the 1920s and returns in the 1930s in the form of Robert DeNiro. The other youngsters have grown up to become James Woods (in his first legitimate screen role), William Forsythe and James Hayden. DeNiro's reunion comes and goes like a lightning strike and the group gets back to old crime basics. By this time Prohibition is a way of life for the gangsters of major U.S. metropolitan areas and the quartet takes full advantage of that opportunity to run wild around the city and create immense profits for themselves. Killing men in their way and even at times raping women in their path becomes a norm as the production advances. Other characters leave almost as fast as they appear. Joe Pesci, Burt Young, Treat Williams and Danny Aiello make such short runs that if you are not paying attention closely you might miss them. The women make more pronounced impressions. Youngster Jennifer Connelly grows to become Elizabeth McGovern (DeNiro's childhood love who has aspirations of acting and singing professionally) and Woods finds companionship with the ultra-erotic and smart-mouthed Tuesday Weld (doing her best work by a mile). As the movie continues, DeNiro and Weld develop a bond of hate that turns into mutual respect and eventually they even become the oddest of friends. Woods and DeNiro have a mutual unspoken brotherly love that translates into one of the most important relationships in the history of the movies (DeNiro and Al Pacino would later share a similar bond in the vastly under-rated "Heat" some 11 years later). As all this happens though we begin to wonder if all we are seeing is the true reality. A dream-like beginning (which supposedly shows the fates of the four criminals) does not always fit with an amazingly strange final 30 minutes that seems to defy convention, time constraints for the characters and major cinematic screen-writing principles. Symbolism that has always been prevalent in the Italian cinema also comes into play here and these symbols may indeed hold the true answers to the mysteries within. And then again, maybe not. "Once Upon a Time in America" was Sergio Leone's final film and it grows in myth and legend due to that fact. Much like similar movies like "Giant" (James Dean's final performance) and "Eyes Wide Shut" (Stanley Kubrick's hypnotic final production), this movie just seems to go into a higher stratosphere of Hollywood that totally ignores the typical norms that are always in association with other big-name movie products. James Hayden even died of an apparent drug overdose shortly after this film was initially released while performing on Broadway. And thus the legends grow and multiply. Overall in the end I do believe that "Once Upon a Time in America" is arguably the finest movie of the 1980s. It is definitely a unique production that stands near the paramount of a decade that was mired in stupid comedies, teen flicks and endless horror movie installments. DeNiro is truly a revelation once again here and he dominates most in a production of seemingly endless wonderful performances. The movie is one of those that should be studied and analyzed over and over by those who really want to get to the root of cinematic history and development. Much like its running time, the excellence of "Once Upon a Time in America" is nearly immeasurable.

An absolute masterpiece. Quite possibly one of, if not THE greatest film of all time. can it be said that a film has defined a genre, but never is that more true than in the case of The Godfather. Since the release of the 1972 epic (which garnered ten Academy Award nominations and was named Best Picture), all "gangster movies" have been judged by the standards of this one (unfair as the comparison may be). If a film is about Jewish mobsters, it's a "Jewish Godfather"; if it's about the Chinese underworld, it's an "Oriental Godfather"; if it takes place in contemporary times, it's a "modern day Godfather."

If The Godfather was only about gun-toting Mafia types, it would never have garnered as many accolades. The characteristic that sets this film apart from so many of its predecessors and successors is its ability to weave the often-disparate layers of story into a cohesive whole. Any of the individual issues explored by The Godfather are strong enough to form the foundation of a movie. Here, however, bolstered by so many complimentary themes, each is given added resonance. The picture is a series of mini-climaxes, all building to the devastating, definitive conclusion.

Rarely does a film tell as many diverse-yet-interconnected stories. Strong performances, solid directing, and a tightly-plotted script all contribute to The Godfather's success. This motion picture was not slapped together to satiate the appetite of the masses; it was carefully and painstakingly crafted. Every major character - and more than a few minor ones - is molded into a distinct, complex individual. Stereotypes did not influence Coppola's film, although certain ones were formed as a result of it.

The film opens in the study of Don Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando), the Godfather, who is holding court. It is the wedding of his daughter Connie (Talia Shire), and no Sicilian can refuse a request on that day. So the supplicants come, each wanting something different - revenge, a husband for their daughter, a part in a movie.

The family has gathered for the event. Michael (Al Pacino), Don Vito's youngest son and a second world war hero, is back home in the company of a new girlfriend (Diane Keaton). The two older boys, Sonny (James Caan) and Fredo (John Cazale), are there as well, along with their "adopted" brother, Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall), the don's right-hand man.

With the end of the war, the times are changing, and as much as Don Vito seems in control at the wedding, his power is beginning to erode. By the standards of some, his views on the importance of family, loyalty, and respect are antiquated. Even his heir apparent, Sonny, disagrees with his refusal to get into the drug business. Gambling and alcohol are forces of the past and present; narcotics are the future. But Don Vito will not compromise, even when a powerful drug supplier named Sollozzo (Al Lettieri) arrives with promises of high profits for those who back him.

Don Vito's refusal to do business with Sollozzo strikes the first sparks of a war that will last for years and cost many lives. Each of the five major mob families in New York will be gouged by the bloodshed, and a new order will emerge. Betrayals will take place, and the Corleone family will be shaken to its roots by treachery from both within and without.

The Corleone with the most screen time is Michael (it's therefore odd that Al Pacino received a Best Supporting Actor nomination), and his tale, because of its scope and breadth, is marginally dominant. His transformation from "innocent" bystander to central manipulator is the stuff of a Shakespearean tragedy. By the end, this man who claimed to be different from the rest of his family has become more ruthless than Don Vito ever was.

Despite the likes of Serpico, Dog Day Afternoon, Scarface, ...And Justice for All, and Scent of a Woman on his resume, Pacino is best remembered for the role he created in The Godfather (and subsequently reprised in two sequels). While this is not his most demonstrative performance - indeed, he is exceptionally restrained - the quality of the script makes Michael Corleone notable.

Next to Humphrey Bogart's Rick from Casablanca, Oscar winner Marlon Brando's Don Vito may be the most imitated character in screen history. The line "I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse" has attained legendary status, as has the entire performance. With his raspy voice, deliberate movements, and penetrating stare, Brando has created a personae that will be recalled for as long as motion pictures exist.

Don Vito is a most complicated gangster. In his own words, he is not a killer, and he never mixes business with personal matters. He puts family first ("A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man") and despises displays of weakness. He understands the burden of power, and his wordless sympathy for Michael when he is forced to assume the "throne", is one of The Godfather's most revealing moments (about both father and son).

The Godfather had three Best Supporting Actor nominees, all well-deserved. The first was Pacino (who probably should have been nominated alongside Brando in the Best Actor category). The other two were James Caan and Robert Duvall. In a way, it's surprising that Duvall wasn't passed over. His presence in The Godfather isn't flashy or attention-arresting. Like his character of Tom Hagen, he is steady, reliable, and stays in the background. Not so for Caan's Sonny, whose demonstrative and volatile personality can't be overlooked.

Family responsibility. A father's legacy. The need to earn respect. The corrupting influence of power. These are some of the ingredients combined in Francis Ford Coppola's cinematic blender. They are themes which have intrigued the greatest authors of every medium through the centuries.

Although the issues presented in The Godfather are universal in scope, the characters and setting are decidedly ethnic. Even to this day, there is an odd romanticism associated with New York's Italian crime families. The word "Mafia" conjures up images of the sinister and mysterious - scenes of the sort where Luca Brasi meets his fate. Francis Ford Coppola has tapped into this fascination and woven it as yet another element of the many that make his motion picture a compelling experience.

We come to The Godfather like Kay Adams - outsiders uncertain in our expectations - but it doesn't take long for us to be captivated by this intricate, violent world. The film can be viewed on many levels, with equal satisfaction awaiting those who just want a good story, and those who demand much more. The Godfather is long, yes - but it is one-hundred seventy minutes well-spent. When the closing credits roll, only a portion of the story has been told. Yet that last haunting image (Kay's shock of recognition), coupled with Nino Rota's mournful score, leaves a crater-like impression that The Godfather Part II only deepens.

THE best gangster film of all time. This film is absolutely flaw-free, everything is done down to absolute perfection. Scorsese's fast, violent, stylish mobster movie is a return to form, De Niro, and the Italian-American underworld. But in following, from '55 to the late '70s, the true-life descent into big-time crime of Henry Hill (Liotta), he and co-writer Nick Pileggi seem less concerned with telling a lucid, linear story than with providing sociological evidence of an ethically (ethnically?) marginalised society united by the desire to make a fast buck. Because Hill and the older 'good fellas' he first falls in with as an awestruck kid - De Niro, Pesci, Sorvino - exist almost totally on the surface, we watch shocked and beguiled but never come to care. The camera and cutting style is as forcefully persuasive as a gun in the gut, so that we are not enlightened but excited by the cocky camaraderie, bloody murder, and expansive sense of 'family' on view. Still, the movie excites the senses in a way few film-makers even dream of, and its epic sweep and brilliantly energetic film language rest on a cluster of effortlessly expert performances.

Where John Wayne said :"Get Off Your Horse And Drink Your Milk", Clint Eastwood pulls you off the horse at full speed, kicks the shit out of you until you wish you were dead and forces that bottle of milk down your throat. This movie is the best western of all time without a doubt, it surpasses even Once Upon A Time In The West its so good.

Shawshank Redemption is a nonpareil piece of cinema on all counts: impeccable cinematography, brilliant casting, wonderful story-telling and flawless directing.The Shawshank Redemption is without doubt my favourite film of all time. Anyone who claims that they were not moved by this film is either lying or has a heart of stone. The story is of a man imprisoned at Shawshank Prison for the murder of his wife, which he did not commit. The film guides the audience through his years in incarceration and often solitary confinement, the prejudice, the abuse and the injustice in the prison system, and delivers an ending so powerful and so surprising that it must be hailed as the greatest ending to a film of all time.tim robbins and morgen feeman the two lead cast members shine as do all the support cast that all so put on such strong performances well There is not an actor in this film who doesnt deliver a commendable performance . The film has everything that you would want from a good movie- great acting, action, a thrilling storyline, tension and suspense, a satisfying ending and great cinematography.

"Raging Bull" is a cinematic masterpiece which pulls no punches. Based on a true story, Robert De Niro (in his second Oscar-winning role) stars as Jake La Motta, a middle-weight prize-fighter from the late-1940s and early-1950s, who basically destroys himself and those around him because of an uncontrollable temper and poor decision-making. Instead of going down as one of the greatest boxers of all time, La Motta ruined his career because he was unable to see the "big picture". He threw bouts, he got involved with low-life underworld crime figures, he beat his wife (Cathy Moriarty, in her Oscar-nominated role), he abused all those closest to him, and he had relationships with young girls who were still considered minors. Even his strongest tie, his younger brother (Joe Pesci, in an Oscar-nominated, star-making part), gets cut during the course of his untimely self-destruction. La Motta goes from middle-weight champ to a washed-out stand-up comic at a local club. He gains weight uncontrollably and ultimately just becomes another face in the crowd by the end of the film. By the end, La Motta proclaims that he: "Could have been a contender....", quoting Marlon Brando's famous line from "On the Waterfront". "Raging Bull" is one of those films that is masterfully crafted in all possible departments. The screenplay is one of the best in the history of film. Martin Scorsese's direction is superb and so is the cinematography (shot almost entirely in black-and-white). The film delivered De Niro an Oscar and also won for its editing. "Raging Bull" is one of those films that is very close to "Citizen Kane". They both deal with men who desperately want to be great, but ultimately destroy themselves and those around them. This film is often rated the best film of the 1980s. I cannot argue with that opinion. I also think that this is the best work that Scorsese and De Niro have ever done. The fact that this film lost the Best Picture Oscar to "Ordinary People" in 1980 is probably the biggest disappointment since "Citizen Kane" lost to "How Green Was My Valley" in 1941.

Tarantino's follow-up to Resevoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, displayed even more of an entertainer's talent for luridness--"a funky American sort of pop, improbable and uproarious with bright colors, danger and blood," according to David Denby. The critic Pauline Kale put her finger on the special appeal of Pulp Fiction when she described it as "shallow but funny. And it's fresh. It was fun and there aren't that many movies that are just fun."
Tarantino is not an original in the way that David Lynch is; he lacks Lynch's powerful imagination. His scripts are not taken from real life, but from previously existing films, books and TV shows. Tarantino does not so much create his stories as build and reconstruct them, using material that already exists. But it's not the stories that he tells; it's how he tells them. More than other directors, Tarantino understands that in a society that takes all its points of reference from pop culture, Americans' sense of identity is largely based on media images, which explains his appropriation of the most common artifacts of our culture.

Lurid, low-life characters in cheap crime novels of the 1930s and 1940s provided the inspiration for Pulp Fiction, which is set in a modern-day Hollywood populated with hoods, gangsters, corrupt cops, and black widows. Boasting an audacious structure, Pulp Fiction comprises three interconnected stories that don't match up evenly. Tarantino breaks Hollywood's honored norm of presenting events in sequence. Yet, by the end, the chronology falls into place.

Each story centers on two characters. The first duo are lovebirds, Honey Bunny and Pumpkin (Plummer and Roth), in a coffee shop contemplating a career change--the question: whether to hold up restaurants instead of liquor stores. The second pair, which forms the central core of the film, Vincent Vega (John Travolta) and Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) are talkative hit men who work for crime boss Marsellus Wallace (Ving Rhames). Wallace is jealously married to the exotic heroin-addled Mia (Uma Thurman). There's also a double-crossing prize-fighter, Butch (Bruce Willis) and his girlfriend (Maria de Medeiros); Butch is supposed to take a dive, but instead takes the money and run. The movie ends with Vince and Jules dealing with a drug hit that goes uproariously awry.

The thematic novelty of Pulp Fiction is that it's less about the depiction of crime than about what happens before and after crime--how to cope with the bloody mess of a man killed in the back seat of a car. Tarantino creates a character named Wolf (Keitel), a mobster cleanup man who instructs on how to do the job. What holds the movie together is its inspired playfulness and cool nihilism in stories that are pitched at a resolutely human scale. Tarantino neglects plot mechanics and linear narrative in favor of lengthy, sustained scenes presented out of sequence. Like Reservoir Dogs, there's very little action in Pulp Fiction: Tarantino's hit men spend more time talking than killing. At the end, a sociopath killer is transformed into a spiritual shepherd. In the final scene, Jules quotes Ezekiel 25:17 to his victims before blasting them.

In the self-enclosed world of Reservoir Dogs, there was no room for women, except for a cameo of a woman who shoots Keitel's character. But in Pulp Fiction, one of the central figures is Mia, Marsellus' attractive wife, whose date with Vincent provides an exhilarating scene. Knowing that her husband once threw a man out a window for giving her a foot massage, Vince escorts her with trepidation. A leisurely buildup of their date culminates with the memorable sight of Travolta and Thurman twisting on the dance floor of a 1950s themed restaurant.

Once again, Tarantino shows his penchant for the rhythm of words--the talk has the drollery of gangland Beckett with exuberant verbal riffs. As Vince and Jules drive to their first "mission," they talk about fast food in Europe. "Do you know what a Quarter Pounder is called in Amsterdam" Vince asks. "A Royale with cheese." The two bicker endlessly about whether a foot massage counts as a sexual act. Tarantino is a master at taking trite situations and giving them a sudden, vertiginous twirl, as the farcical scene of Mia's drug overdose demonstrates.

The three overlapping stories brim with anecdotes, debates, profanities, and biblical quotations. Tarantino's scripts contain so many stories that it's easy to overlook the restrained lucidity of his style and his respect for actors. Unlike most action films, in which actors compete with--and are upstaged by--special effects, actors are central in Tarantino's movies. In Pulp Fiction he builds the entire film around the cadence of their performances. When characters converse, Andrzej Sekula's camera gracefully observes the dialogue, without movement or other distractions.

Stylistically inventive, Pulp Fiction differs from the conventional landscape of film noir, showing a different side of L.A. Most noirs are set at night, but Tarantino's action is set in a sun-blasted sprawl with no palm trees, no shots of the ocean, no montage of Rodeo Drive shopping, no reference to the Hollywood sign. Pointedly avoiding a slick look, Tarantino replaces these icons with squalid settings of barren streets, dilapidated buildings, plain coffee shops.

Many directors have borrowed from classic Hollywood genres, but the achievement of Pulp Fiction is how, despite secondhand parts, it succeeds at being coherent and fresh. Tarantino takes familiar situations and subverts them with sudden outbursts of violence, radical changes of tone. As a postmodern work, Pulp Fiction succeeds where Soderbergh's Kafka, which was also made of borrowed elements, failed. David Denby has observed that Tarantino works with trash, but by criticizing and formalizing it, he emerges with something different: an amalgam of banality and formality.

There are weak scenes, such as the flat romance between Butch and his girlfriend, or Butch's gaudy encounter with rednecks, replete with S&M and male rape recalling the Gothic of Deliverance. Like the torture scene in Reservoir Dogs, Tarantino indulges in unadulterated villainy. His adolescent delight at showing physical torment and his uncertainty about female characters may derive, as John Powers noted, from the fact that his primary experience comes from old movies; he still doesn't know much about human behavior.

Released by Miramax (which in 1993 was bought by Disney), Pulp Fiction became the most morally subversive movie to come out of the Disney empire. But the public reacted with unprecedented enthusiasm, elevating Tarantino and his picture to a cult level. Of course, it didn't hurt that Miramax planned a brilliant campaign. Sweeping most of the critics awards in 1994, including Oscar nominations, Pulp Fiction became one of the few independent film to cross the magic $100 million mark.

Jaws marked the start of the summer blockbuster event movie, and for a film to still hold all of it's power over 33 years later is just a testiment of Spielbergs perfect monster movie. The movie is a rare thing, because it is actually better than Peter Benchley's novel. We all know that the shark looks fake, but thats not the point of the film, and remember the film was made in 1975 when there was no CGI. Spielberg uses low angle shots so that the camera is almost always at water level, giving the viewer the impression that they are in the water with the beast, But its the interplay between the three main stars that add the human touch to the film. the icing on the cake comes with John Williams iconic music score, giving the sense of constant threat even when the shark is not on screen, Williams uses his music skill to change the pitch, tone and speed of the sharks theme tune to add extra menace.
This is a perfect film in every aspect, that stills thrills and shocks as it did way back in the summer of 1975.
Perfection

The genius is not in how much Stanley Kubrick does in ``2001: A Space Odyssey,'' but in how little. This is the work of an artist so sublimely confident that he doesn't include a single shot simply to keep our attention. He reduces each scene to its essence, and leaves it on screen long enough for us to contemplate it, to inhabit it in our imaginations. Alone among science-fiction movies, ``2001'' is not concerned with thrilling us, but with inspiring our awe.

No little part of his effect comes from the music. Although Kubrick originally commissioned an original score from Alex North, he used classical recordings as a temporary track while editing the film, and they worked so well that he kept them. This was a crucial decision. North's score, which is available on a recording, is a good job of film composition, but would have been wrong for ``2001'' because, like all scores, it attempts to underline the action--to give us emotional cues. The classical music chosen by Kubrick exists *outside* the action. It uplifts. It wants to be sublime; it brings a seriousness and transcendence to the visuals.

Consider two examples. The Johann Strauss waltz ``Blue Danube,'' which accompanies the docking of the space shuttle and the space station, is deliberately slow, and so is the action. Obviously such a docking process would have to take place with extreme caution (as we now know from experience), but other directors might have found the space ballet too slow, and punched it up with thrilling music, which would have been wrong.

We are asked in the scene to contemplate the process, to stand in space and watch. We know the music. It proceeds as it must. And so, through a peculiar logic, the space hardware moves slowly because it's keeping the tempo of the waltz. At the same time, there is an exaltation in the music that helps us feel the majesty of the process.

Now consider Kubrick's famous use of Richard Strauss' ``Thus Spake Zarathustra.'' Inspired by the words of Nietzsche, its five bold opening notes embody the ascension of man into spheres reserved for the gods. It is cold, frightening, magnificent.

The music is associated in the film with the first entry of man's consciousness into the universe--and with the eventual passage of that consciousness onto a new level, symbolized by the Star Child at the end of the film. When classical music is associated with popular entertainment, the result is usually to trivialize it (who can listen to the ``William Tell Overture'' without thinking of the Lone Ranger?). Kubrick's film is almost unique in *enhancing* the music by its association with his images.

I attended the Los Angeles premiere of the film, in 1968, at the Pantages Theater. It is impossible to describe the anticipation in the audience adequately. Kubrick had been working on the film in secrecy for some years, in collaboration, the audience knew, with author Arthur C. Clarke, special-effects expert Douglas Trumbull and consultants who advised him on the specific details of his imaginary future--everything from space station design to corporate logos. Fearing to fly and facing a deadline, Kubrick had sailed from England on the Queen Elizabeth, doing the editing while on board, and had continued to edit the film during a cross-country train journey. Now it finally was ready to be seen.

To describe that first screening as a disaster would be wrong, for many of those who remained until the end knew they had seen one of the greatest films ever made. But not everyone remained. Rock Hudson stalked down the aisle, complaining, ``Will someone tell me what the hell this is about?'' There were many other walkouts, and some restlessness at the film's slow pace (Kubrick immediately cut about 17 minutes, including a pod sequence that essentially repeated another one).

The film did not provide the clear narrative and easy entertainment cues the audience expected. The closing sequences, with the astronaut inexplicably finding himself in a bedroom somewhere beyond Jupiter, were baffling. The overnight Hollywood judgment was that Kubrick had become derailed, that in his obsession with effects and set pieces, he had failed to make a movie.

What he had actually done was make a philosophical statement about man's place in the universe, using images as those before him had used words, music or prayer. And he had made it in a way that invited us to contemplate it--not to experience it vicariously as entertainment, as we might in a good conventional science-fiction film, but to stand outside it as a philosopher might, and think about it.

The film falls into several movements. In the first, prehistoric apes, confronted by a mysterious black monolith, teach themselves that bones can be used as weapons, and thus discover their first tools. I have always felt that the smooth artificial surfaces and right angles of the monolith, which was obviously *made* by intelligent beings, triggered the realization in an ape brain that intelligence could be used to shape the objects of the world.

The bone is thrown into the air and dissolves into a space shuttle (this has been called the longest flash-forward in the history of the cinema). We meet Dr. Heywood Floyd (William Sylvester), en route to a space station and the moon. This section is willfully anti-narrative; there are no breathless dialogue passages to tell us of his mission. Instead, Kubrick shows us the minutiae of the flight: the design of the cabin, the details of in-flight service, the effects of zero gravity.

Then comes the docking sequence, with its waltz, and for a time even the restless in the audience are silenced, I imagine, by the sheer wonder of the visuals. On board, we see familiar brand names, we participate in an enigmatic conference among the scientists of several nations, we see such gimmicks as a videophone and a zero-gravity toilet.

The sequence on the moon (which looks as real as the actual video of the moon landing a year later) is a variation on the film's opening sequence. Man is confronted with a monolith, just as the apes were, and is drawn to a similar conclusion: *This must have been made.* And as the first monolith led to the discovery of tools, so the second leads to the employment of man's most elaborate tool: the spaceship Discovery, employed by man in partnership with the artificial intelligence of the onboard computer, named HAL 9000.

Life onboard the Discovery is presented as a long, eventless routine of exercise, maintenance checks and chess games with HAL. Only when the astronauts fear that HAL's programming has failed does a level of suspense emerge; their challenge is somehow to get around HAL, which has been programmed to believe, ``This mission is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it.'' Their efforts lead to one of the great shots in the cinema, as the men attempt to have a private conversation in a space pod, and HAL reads their lips. The way Kubrick edits this scene so that we can discover what HAL is doing is masterful in its restraint: He makes it clear, but doesn't insist on it. He trusts our intelligence.

Later comes the famous ``star gate'' sequence, a sound and light journey in which astronaut Dave Bowman (Keir Dullea) travels through what we might now call a wormhole into another place, or dimension, that is unexplained. At journey's end is the comfortable bedroom suite in which he grows old, eating his meals quietly, napping, living the life (I imagine) of a zoo animal who has been placed in a familiar environment. And then the Star Child.

There is never an explanation of the other race that presumably left the monoliths and provided the star gate and the bedroom. ``2001'' lore suggests Kubrick and Clarke tried and failed to create plausible aliens. It is just as well. The alien race exists more effectively in negative space: We react to its invisible presence more strongly than we possibly could to any actual representation.

``2001: A Space Odyssey'' is in many respects a silent film. There are few conversations that could not be handled with title cards. Much of the dialogue exists only to *show* people talking to one another, without much regard to content (this is true of the conference on the space station). Ironically, the dialogue containing the most feeling comes from HAL, as it pleads for its ``life'' and sings ``Daisy.''

The film creates its effects essentially out of visuals and music. It is meditative. It does not cater to us, but wants to inspire us, enlarge us. Nearly 30 years after it was made, it has not dated in any important detail, and although special effects have become more versatile in the computer age, Trumbull's work remains completely convincing--more convincing, perhaps, than more sophisticated effects in later films, because it looks more plausible, more like documentary footage than like elements in a story.

Only a few films are transcendent, and work upon our minds and imaginations like music or prayer or a vast belittling landscape. Most movies are about characters with a goal in mind, who obtain it after difficulties either comic or dramatic. ``2001: A Space Odyssey'' is not about a goal but about a quest, a need. It does not hook its effects on specific plot points, nor does it ask us to identify with Dave Bowman or any other character. It says to us: We became men when we learned to think. Our minds have given us the tools to understand where we live and who we are. Now it is time to move on to the next step, to know that we live not on a planet but among the stars, and that we are not flesh but intelligence.

Fiendish, perplexing noir with a killer, bitter twist. Somehow both a product of the Movie Brat '70s and also strangely timeless, feeling like it belongs in the genres heyday.

It must be at least 18 months since the hype machine was started up for The Dark Knight. It may not have appeared on the average movie goer?s radar until a couple of months before the movie was actually released but for people who spend half their life on the Internet this was followed meticulously from photograph to photograph, new trailer to new trailer, and it got to a point where it seemed no matter how good the movie was, it wouldn?t live up to the hype and expectations.

Well, I?m here to tell you, like so many others before me, that The Dark Knight lives up to all of that, delivering the quality that everyone wanted and a plethora of unexpected aspects thrown in for good measure. This is expansive yet meticulous filmmaking; an epic, all-enveloping crime tale hidden under the disguise of a comic book movie.

Carrying directly on from Batman Begins, The Dark Knight sees Batman and Lieutenant Gordon join forces with newly appointed DA Harvey Dent to take on a psychopathic criminal known as The Joker. Simultaneously they have to combat other forces, such as the mob, which are still persisting as the core problem within Gotham City, whilst The Joker?s crimes grow more and more deadly.

With Batman Begins, director Christopher Nolan took a pretty much dead franchise and breathed fresh life into it. He managed to make people forgive the movie making industry for the atrocity that was Batman & Robin and we were free to have faith in the character and all it has to offer once again. It was gritty, realistic, and showed the true, dark nature of the character with none of the colourful candy layered on top that some of the previous films had. However, Nolan and company have done what I didn?t think was possible -- they have surpassed the quality set by the predecessor and made not only the best comic book movie ever made, but a film that transcends the genre and could more accurately be described as an epic, expansive crime story that just happens to have a comic book character in it.The Dark Knight could be compared to Ang Lee?s take on the Hulk; it disguises itself as a regular comic book movie but it heads in such directions that it doesn?t feel at all like one. It is so much more than that, there?s so much detail in there, so much going on and just so many unexpected elements working simultaneously that it?s surprising it?s been welcomed as much as it has. It doesn?t function as expected -- it?s almost as if it takes the expectations of the audience and twists and contorts them into only a mild resemblance of what they formerly were. But the key to this gamble is that what we get, although it?s different from what we might have expected, is all so good that it?s not just accepted but completely embraced. This is an example of the fact that you can take risks and do something different with a well-trodden genre and still make the fans feel satisfied with the result.

The cast are all back for Nolan?s second go at the character, with the exception of Maggie Gyllenhaal replacing Katie Holmes as Rachel Dawes. And it?s most definitely a step up in every way; Holmes was probably the biggest problem with Batman Begins, dragging the scenes she was in down more than a few rungs on the ladder with her woodenness but this time around the very talented Gyllenhaal gives the character that much needed believability and compassion. Christian Bale is again excellent as the caped crusader and Gary Oldman (in an expanded role from the one in the previous film), Aaron Eckhart, and Morgan Freeman are all predictably impressive in their respective roles.

However there?s one actor who is a psychopathic head above the rest, and I don?t really need to say who it is as you will already know. Heath Ledger is stunning, mesmerising, astonishing, and utterly astounding as Batman?s arch nemesis, The Joker. The way he gets every mannerism, every facial expression, and of course the infamous high-pitched laugh absolutely spot-on is a testament to how deep he dove into the character. No matter how good the rest of the cast are, Ledger is untouchable here and most definitely deserves that Oscar nomination people have been saying he?ll get. And when he does get nominated come next year it won?t be out of sympathy but because he truly deserves it, he really is that damn good. And anyone who states otherwise is wrong; it?s not often I say that flat out but this warrants such a brash statement. Ledger?s performance will go down in the movie villain history books alongside the likes of Hannibal Lecter and Norman Bates. Very often in films of this genre, no matter what happens, no matter the dangers our hero has to face, we know he won?t die because he?s the hero of the tale, right? Well, The Dark Knight is one of those rare cases where you genuinely fear for the life of the main character and the (innocent) people around him. It?s one of the key strengths of the film that no one is safe, no matter how established they may be within the story or in the hearts of the comic book fans; you just never know what will happen next and to whom. There?s a certain unpredictability at play here, the likes of which we?ve rarely seen in modern movies, especially those based on comic books.

Aside from The Joker, who I can?t say enough amazing things about, the biggest addition is Aaron Eckhart as ?Gotham?s white knight? Harvey Dent. This goes to prove that you can have multiple storylines, or more specifically multiple villains, in the same film and make it work. It could be argued that they should have had the whole film about The Joker and left the character of Two-Face for the next one but I would argue that the two go hand in hand, at least in the way the story is handled here. Some very detailed problems with the conclusion of the two characters' stories aside, as a fan of the characters and the whole mythology I was in utter heaven experiencing a film that includes three of the comic book universe?s best characters.

One of the complaints about Batman Begins was that the fight sequences weren?t done as coherently as people would have liked. Even as a fan I still can admit that there was a bit of the annoying shaky cam going on and it did draw you out of the experience of the scene rather than involve you as it should have. Well Nolan has successfully remedied that flaw here as the fight sequences are very much coherent, in full view and more engaging than you could hope for. It reminds us of the fact that Batman is supposed to be one of the best hand-to-hand combat fighters in the world and boy, does he show it here. It?s not only got all of these elements which are a lot more unique than you?d expect but there are also just the kick-ass action sequences to fall back on to. Like 99% of films out there, The Dark Knight has its flaws. But they?re very specific and very easy to overlook in lieu of everything else. The ending isn?t handled as well as it could have been and there are a few moments where you have to suspend your disbelief but they amount to nowhere near the level needed to weigh the film down as a whole.

The Dark Knight is a wonderful piece of filmmaking; it works on a purely entertainment level where you can just sit back and enjoy the kick-ass action sequences and the bringing to life of some famous characters. And it also works as much more than that; the magnificent performance of Ledger as The Joker coupled with this all-encompassing crime element gives it those extra layers of creative complexity. For me this sits comfortably not only as one of the best of 2008 so far but as a testament to just how good a film can be when the maximum amount of effort, passion, and determination gets thrown at it. The hype may have been magnanimous but The Dark Knight lives up to it; and that, my friend, is no joke.

No matter what wars are going on, what the neighbours are screaming about next store, how many kids Sally Struthers pleads on behalf of, at the end of the day the media (movies, TV, books, etc.) more often than not present us with a candy-coated view of the world where in the end everything turns out right. John Boy gets his goodnights in, the Tanners of Full House get their hugs and the boy and the girl live happily ever after. Happy endings are a good way to feel good, but the sheer percentage of happy endings as opposed to the blur of reality is far too great. Perhaps that's why Martin Scorsese's Taxi Driver is so frightening. It's got a happy ending of sorts, but the root of the happiness is deeply frightening.

Made at a time when the world was skeptical and the powers that be were deemed untrustworthy, Taxi Driver resonates today as much as it did upon its initial release. The film focuses on a loner New York cabbie named Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro in one of his career-defining roles). Travis struggles to make any real friends, even failing to really get along with his coworkers over mid-shift coffee.

Through Travis' eyes, Scorsese shows New York as an urban hell filled with drugs, pimps, weapons and politicians. This is established in the opening credits in a famous shot in which Travis' taxi emerges from a plume of steam that symbolizes the underworld of below.

Travis is a Vietnam veteran who is unsure as to where to go with his life. All around him is human vermin and scum, surely not what he went to fight for. He is also alone in the world. He's shown with acquaintances, but there's never any sense of friendship until the end of the film, and even that "friendship" could be viewed as more familial than one of kinship.

Looking at the world through a lens of trouble and disappointment, Travis is blind to love. When he lands a date with Betsy (Cybill Shepherd), a campaign organizer for a presidential hopeful, he takes her to a porno film their first time out. Amid the predictable fallout, Travis genuinely sees nothing wrong with his choice in date movies thinking that sex equaled love and vice versa. He has no concept on how to maintain a relationship. This, in part, allows Travis to become the violent anti-hero that he goes on to become later in the film. Because of his disconnect he isn't 'normal' and therefore Travis can go and commit murder and be admired for doing so. If he were your average guy in a suit, murder would not be so easy, even if it were to an abusive pimp who farms out young teenagers.

Travis' motives are always pure. He simply wants a world filled with good. And just like he was willing to go to war earlier in his life on foreign soil, Travis is willing to fight on the streets of his homeland against enemies that aren't so easily identified. Travis is a soldier fighting the good fight.

Taxi Driver is a grimy film that perfectly reflects its grimy subject matter. Paul Shrader's script combined with Scorsese's direction and topped off by De Niro's performance makes Travis Bickle one of film's most complex characters. When you talk about super heroes, he truly is one minus the tights and powers. This is a violent film that should be nothing less. Travis' world is an ugly place so what we see shouldn't be anything but.

When Scorsese made Taxi Driver, he was still avoiding the glitz and glamour of a big-budget Hollywood production. Even if he was now in the spotlight, Taxi Driver maintains a gritty feel that was necessary for it to have any impact.

The fact that this film is as applicable today as it was three decades ago is a sad testament that it is impossible for one man to make all the difference in the world. Although I don't think Scorsese meant for Taxi Driver to be a call to arms for would-be vigilantes around the world, it should be seen as an eye-opener - something that makes you more aware and educates about the sad reality of some people's lives.

The Godfather Part II may just skim off the edge of the original Godfather but this one definetely exceeds more on the 'Movie To See Before You Die' factor. The story of Michael Corleones soul loss is awesome, but what really is brilliant is the 'prequel' part of the film. Robert DeNiro plays a young Vito Corleone and this goes on to tell you about how a happy family can be totally driven apart by corruption. The comparison is great of how Vito Corleones empire was built on love, honour and respect, but Michaels was built on volatility, brutal dominance and the unbelievable lack of loyalty. Possibly the second greatest film ever made

It could all have been so different. In fact, it could all have been a disaster. At the end of 1984 director Robert Zemekis, who had been shooting his second movie, Back To The Future, for over a month was not a happy man. He was saddled with a lead actor who just didn't cut it as a happy-go-lucky, wisecracking teen. He was more like an angst-ridden 40-year-old struggling to make sense of existence in a godless universe.

To make matters worse he'd seen a young actor perfect for the role. Michael J. Fox, then the star of TV sitcom Family Ties radiated youthful joie de vivre and frankly, for a movie with a solid teen base, was just gosh-darned cuter. Something had to be done. Eric Stoltz was out. Fox was in. And they started all over again. But if Back To The Future was the product of a fractured shoot, what emerged was well worth the agony. An almost perfectly wrought slice of old fashioned escapist fantasy, it not only announced the celluloid arrival of the finest light-comedy actor of his generation, but was one of the very few films made in the avaricious, style-challenged 80s that transcended and survived the ugly extremes of its era (skintight stonewashed jeans which, one unkind critic remarked, "look like they've been masturbated over by a troupe of boy scouts" excepted) and which remains an utterly beguiling little gem.

Among the plethora of innocent charms on offer, there's the near perfect script by Zemekis and Bob Gale which not only negotiates its
time travel paradoxes with deft, exuberant wit but invests the light-hearted plot machinations with a seasoning note of honest drama (Doc's death within the first 10 minutes throws the comedy into pleasing relief and provides welcome dramatic release when we find, at the end, that the worst isn't true).

There's Alan Silvestri's Williamsesque score; a plethora of memorable set-pieces ? Marty's premature invention of the skateboard as he rips the top of a young kid's box-cart; his introduction of rock 'n' roll which develops into an anachronistic, Hendrix-style guitar solo ("Maybe you're not ready for that," McFly admits, "but trust me, your kids are going to love it.") as well as nods to other sci-fi movies ? an innovation in the mid-80s when Tarantino was still re-racking the late-returns. When Marty has to convince his not-yet-dad to ask his not-yet-mom out he poses as Darth Vader (a variation on the joke appears in Part III when he calls himself Clint Eastwood) and claims to have come from the planet Vulcan.

And then there's the tastefully-handled Oedipal riff which, in less talented hands, might have been uncomfortable, if not downright nauseating. But at the heart of Back To The Future is the towering talent of the diminutive (his least favourite word, "Why can't they just call me short?") Michael J. Fox. Thrust into the spotlight in recent times due to illness, Fox established himself here as quite simply the most charming screen presence of the 80s.

Weirdly, shortly after the massive success of the BTTF trilogy, it became de rigeur to bash the actor. Obviously his enormous talent for light comedy didn't sit well with the hip-cynicism of the 90s. Applying anything approaching rigorous criticism to Back To The Future would be like taking a jack-hammer to a perfectly risen souffle, but there are a number of intriguing readings to Zemekis' movie, particularly since hostile critics of the directors' subsequent work, Forrest Gump and Contact, have detected in him a Capra-esque conservatism. You could make the case that BTTF is a manipulative critique of the 80s through the prism of an airbrushed version of the 50s that owes more to George Lucas' American Graffiti than the turmoil of the decade itself (the burning crosses and blacks dangling from trees are presumably "just out of shot").

Zemekis seems to be accusing the 80s of betraying the American Post War dream; Marty's frumpy, nervous, bullied family are not the way things were meant to turn out (next to them at the dinner table you wonder if Marty ever inquired whether he was adopted) in the same way that the grasping 80s are not the legitimate offspring of the "innocent" 50s. Of course this is all a bit speculative. But if Back To The Future doesn't hold big ideas well, it remains like its star ? small, but perfectly formed

This movie enhances the core values of the thriller genre. It is an absolute classic. Featuring an all-star cast of Spacey, Pitt, and Freeman its an absolute winner. New cop on the block Pitt teams up with old time proffessional Freeman to hunt down Spacey who is killing the commiters of the Seven Deadly Sins. David Fincher releases film making at its very best and doesn't fail to make not even one of yours move away from the TV screen. Like Horrors and Thrillers, get Se7en...

In recent years, Hollywood has specialised in churning out mainstream trash; generic trash not even fit for the cutting room floor. Yet despite these movies' shortcomings, they continue to enjoy success at the box office. Sequel upon sequel, photo fit remake upon photo fit remake, frequently taking the box office by storm whilst simultaneously relegating smaller independent projects to the now relatively unheard-of arthouse cinemas. The tragedy is that the independent filmmakers are often those with the most talent; the most creativity; the most flair. One such filmmaker is director Richard Kelly, who saw the release of his scifi-drama-horror-tragedy-comedy-romance-thriller Donnie Darko last year. After reading a few rave reviews for the movie, I decided to check it out to find out what all the fuss was about.

Donnie is a seventeen year-old boy with major emotional problems. He suffers from a psychological condition not dissimilar to schizophrenia, and lives most of his life in a medication-induced daze. We watch as Donnie meets Frank, a six foot tall rabbit which predicts the end of the world. Returning to his house, Donnie finds a jet engine jutting out from the side of his bedroom. The remainder of the movie follows Donnie's coming to terms with the ghostly presence of Frank in his life, the purpose of his existence, and the fact that the world will end unless he intervenes.

Without giving too much away, I can safely say that Donnie Darko is a mind-blowing experience. And I use the word `experience' in its truest sense. From the opening shots of Donnie's suburban hometown, through to the satirical take on Middle American high schools, the movie is incredibly involving on many levels. In fact, each frame speaks to us on more profound terms than the majority of arthouse films would claim to do. This is, in part, due to the impeccable performances by each and every member of the cast. Jake Gyllenhaal, a relative unknown, delivers a subtle yet emotionally charged performance as Donnie himself - the scene in which he tells his psychologist of his various childhood traumas is made both funny and moving by the haunting way in which Jake delivers each line, contrasted with the almost childish qualities of his movements on the couch. Most incredible of all, however, is his terrifying screen presence as he trudges slowly through a deserted corridor or along a dark street, head tilted slightly forward, face fixed in a confused, bewildered expression. Drew Barrymore is also superb as the liberal high school teacher rejected and scorned in a Conservative education system, while Patrick Swayze is excellent in his extended cameo, a smartly observed satire of a self-help guru with a few skeletons in the closet.

Where the movie comes into its own, however, is in its ability to incorporate and deal with a variety of genres. Every movie genre seems to make an appearance, so much so that to categorise the movie as simply a `psychological horror' or a `supernatural thriller' would be an unforgivable insult. Even the movie's portrayal of a high school, whilst unique and original, even bears a slight resemblance to the teen movies of yesteryear, what with school bullies, the new kid in town and an annoying gym teacher. Yet, Kelly never lets his movie sink to the depths of clichéd teen drama. Instead, he paints a startlingly realistic portrait of suburban America, interspersed with flashes of sci-fi surreality. The movie never descends into total Lynchian weirdness, yet nothing ever seems quite real.

Donnie Darko may conjure up images of oversized bunnies and watery projections protruding from people's midriffs, yet on an emotional level it is very much human. Donnie Darko is as much a drama as it is a thriller, and a superb character study at that. We are often led to question whether Donnie's visions and actions are the consequence of a paranoid, twisted, drug-polluted mind, or whether he really is experiencing such things. His gradual disillusionment as he realises that there is no hope and that he may have to go through eternity alone is beautifully portrayed, while the sense of peace and inner fulfilment he ultimately achieves is a truly inspirational message.

Without meaning to sound overtly soppy and without meaning to spoil the ending for anyone unfortunate enough not to have seen the movie, Donnie Darko concludes in one of the most mind bending, emotionally affecting ways possible. On a scientific level it will fuel debates for years to come (I have already read numerous different interpretations of the ending on the internet) but emotionally it transcends the conventions of modern movie making. In fact, it soars. The last few minutes, where Tears For Fears' Mad World is played over shots of various characters breaking into fits of hyper-emotion or contemplating their actions, are tremendously moving, while the lyrics (`I find it kinda funny/I find it kinda sad/the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had') perfectly summarise Donnie's state of mind. Furthermore, the last few lines of the movie, without telling you what they are, are meaningful on so many levels, and mark the end to a film steeped in emotion, surrealism and subtle beauty.

I implore you to watch this movie. It most certainly is not for everyone, and will probably be cast off by a lot of the movie going public as pretentious, artsy nonsense. Donnie Darko only saw a very short, unsuccessful US run and was accompanied with very little hype. Hilarious, heart-rendingly sad, terrifying, profound, intellectually stimulating, emotionally absorbing and thematically relevant, this is by far the best movie of 2002. And for all those wishing to know if there's any American Pie-style crudity, sadly not - although at one point we are treated to a rather interesting discussion regarding the sex lives of smurfs.

Psycho, in my opinion is probably the most heart-stopping movie ever made. Where The Exorcist contained mind-blowing, jaw-dropping scenes and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre achieved the status of the most brutal psychological torture ever depicted on film, Psycho kind of builds up to a climax, waits until you forget about it and then make you become paralysed with the sudden shock of a moment like a woman being massacred in a shower, or to find out that his mother was just a slight vision in his head. However thia movie equals even The Godfather in my opinion, Alfred Hitchcocks greatest piece of work without a doubt.

Classic heist film with Michael Caine leading a plot to steal $4 million of gold bullion from an armoured convoy in Turin. Hugely popular and rightly so, it's hard to believe there is anyone who hasn't seen the film from its many showings on TV. Funny, exciting and with one of the best endings ever, it's also a reminder of when crime films made in this country didn't seem to consist of cockney gangster films

Ingmar Bergman's dark masterpiece effortlessly sees off the revisionists and the satirists; it is a radical work of art that reaches back to scripture, to Cervantes and to Shakespeare to create a new dramatic idiom of its own. It was released 50 years ago, but it's as fresh as a glass of ice-cold water. Max von Sydow and Gunnar Björnstrand are the ascetic Crusader knight and his cynical squire who return from the wars after 10 years to find their country ravaged with plague and the population panicking about the coming apocalypse. The movie fiercely addresses itself to the agony of belief, the need to believe in a God who remains silent, mysterious, absent. It is a work of art that grabs the audience by the lapels, believers and unbelievers alike, and demands not answers, exactly, but an acknowledgement that this is the most important question, the only question: why does anything exist at all? Even after half a century, The Seventh Seal is an untarnished gold-standard of artistic and moral seriousness.